"Did you say he had shipped off three more of you? May I ask, then,
where are the other two?"
"I left them at Liverpool. We didn't agree. I should calculate they're
gone upon the burst. We each had twenty-five dollars and our fares."
John P. Arthur slapped the inner pocket of his coat. "I've still got
my twenty-five, besides half a dollar saved out of my fare."
"May I ask the names of your two missing brothers?"
"One is John A. Francis, and the other--I forget the other's name."
It was Mr. Harland's turn to stare.
"You forget your brother's name?"
"There are such a lot of them that one gets mixed."
"I quite concede that there do appear to be a lot of them, and that
one may get mixed, but still--your brother's name! May I ask the ages
of the young gentlemen whom you presume have gone upon the burst?
About your own?"
"I should say John A. Francis is younger than me. I fought him three
times as we were crossing. I licked each time. He must be younger."
"And the young gentleman whose name you don't happen to remember?"
"He's older. He bangs me easy. Just picks me up and knocks me down. I
reckon John G. William will find him pretty tough."
While Mr. Harland had been talking to John P. Arthur he had been
paying no attention to his letters. When he turned to them he found
that among them there were two which threw some light upon the
proceedings of the missing Masters Bindon. Here is the first:
"The Barracks, Liverpool.
"Sir,--At our Holiness Meeting on Tuesday--Alleluia!--there came in a
new recruit. He gave his name as Thompson Symes, and said that he was
seventeen. He now says that his name is John A. Francis Bindon, and
that his age is twelve. He originally stated that he was a pickpocket,
and had been nine times in jail. He now says that he has never been in
jail, but that he has been sent by his father in America to be a pupil
in your school. We shall be obliged if you will inform us if you know
anything of a boy named John A. Francis Bindon. We fear that his
present statement is as false as the others he has made. Alleluia!--G.
Smith, _Major_."
Here is the second:
"Office Of The Society For The
Reclamation Of Juvenile Beggars,
"Liverpool.
"Sir,--A boy who was charged this afternoon at the Liverpool Police
Court with the offence of begging tells a somewhat remarkable story.
He has been remanded to the workhouse for a week to enable us to
inquire into the truth of what he says.
"He is four feet seven inches in height, dark hair, pale face, and he
has a deep scar upon his left cheek. Speaks with a decided American
accent.
"He states that his name is John B. David Bindon, that he left New
York on board the steamship _Ocean Star_, in company with his two
brothers. The names of these two brothers he declares that he forgets,
alleging that he has so many brothers that he cannot remember all
their names. He says that they were coming from New York to be pupils
in your school. On board ship they disagreed, and at Liverpool they
parted. He does not know what became of his two brothers. He says that
he himself had twenty-five dollars in his pockets in American
currency. Part of this he spent upon confectionery and sweets, until
he made some acquaintances in the street, who took him to what appears
to have been a disreputable house. There they robbed him, not only of
his money, but also of his clothes. They kept him, so he states,
locked up for three days, only releasing him on his promising to
appeal for alms, and on his undertaking to bring back the proceeds of
his appeal. No sooner, according to his statement, did he commence to
beg than he was given into custody.
"If you know anything, whether for good or ill, of a boy named John B.
David Bindon, I should be obliged by your communicating at once with
me at these offices. I have had much experience in these cases, and I
think myself that the boy's story, strange though it seems, contains
at least some portion of truth. Awaiting your early favour,
"I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
"Edward Everest, _Secretary_."
When Mr. Harland showed these letters to his wife, and told her John
P. Arthur's story, the lady was, not unnaturally, surprised.
"Andrew, I am sure there is something wrong about those Bindons! There
will be a scandal if you don't take care! I never heard of such a
thing! Don't tell me that any man can have seven sons, all of an age!
It's incredible on the face of the thing!"
Mr. Harland communicated with Mr. Smith and Mr. Everest. The two
missing Masters Bindon appeared at Duddenham. They were given into the
charge of the guard at Liverpool; the schoolmaster himself met them at
the village station.
"Them boys," observed the guard, as he handed over his charges to the
principal of Mulberry House, "them boys is nice ones."
Ten minutes after their appearance in the playground John G. William
was having it out with John B. David.
"Andrew," called Mrs. Harland from an upper room, "those Bindons are
fighting again."
"I see they are."
As a matter of fact the uproar had attracted her husband to his study
window.
"They are an interesting family."
He stood at the window for a second or two observing the fray.
"I fancy that in John B. David John G. William has met his match. It
is perhaps as well that he should."
He was aware, from previous experience, that if he interfered in one
of the family discussions it would only be renewed at the earliest
opportunity. As he was wondering whether it would not be as well to
let them fight it out and have done with it, at any rate for the time,
a servant entered the room with a letter in her hand. The principal
opened it. It was a cablegram:
"Forgot to advise last shipment. Three. Draw Rödenheim.--Bindon."
"'What sort of a family can that be," inquired the schoolmaster of
himself, "which is so large that the father overlooks such a trifling
detail as the sending of three of his sons, all of tender years,
unescorted, across the Atlantic Ocean? And when, a month after their
departure, the incident does occur to his mind, he contents himself
with sending nine words--and nine such words--in a telegram. I think I
will go up in person to Messrs. Rödenheim, and make a few inquiries."
He made them, but he received little information in return. Messrs.
Rödenheim received him with courtesy. They informed him that, up to a
certain amount, they were instructed to honour his calls; that Mr.
Bindon was a client of theirs, financially, of the highest standing.
But as to his family affairs: they were simply bankers, and as such
Mr. Harland could not suppose that they concerned themselves with the
family affairs of their customers.
"One thing seems pretty clear," said Mr. Harland to his wife, when he
returned to Mulberry House. "There appears, in the case of the
prolific parent of the Bindons, to be plenty of money, and that is
more than can be said in the case of the parents of all my boys. I
don't see myself, Maria, why I should object to there being seven, or
even seventy brothers in a family, especially if the father of the
seventy is a good paymaster, and all the seventy come to me."
"Of course there's that to be said."
"There's very much that to be said. The terms in my prospectus are
thirty guineas per annum for boys of twelve, a reduction to be made
for brothers. I have to make a reduction sometimes when there are no
brothers. In this case there are actually _seven_ brothers, and,
instead of being called upon to make a reduction--some fathers would
want you to take the seven as though they were four!--I receive one
hundred pounds a year with each, besides extras."
Mr. Harland smiled as he thought of the sum which he had drawn that
day from Messrs. Rödenheim.
"No doubt that's nice enough."
"I don't know if you're aware that I receive more from those seven
Bindons than from all the rest of my pupils put together. Under those
circumstances I don't see how it concerns me if their father has a
peculiar habit of shipping his offspring as though they were barrels
of pork, and then forgetting to 'advise' me, as he calls it, of his
'shipments'!"
"But will it last?"
"Will what last? The Bindons? Are you afraid that John G. William will
knock the rest of the family all to pieces? I don't think there is
much fear of that now that John B. David has appeared upon the scene.
It strikes me from what I have heard and seen that he will perform
upon John G. William. I noticed at tea that John G. William's
countenance seemed to be a little the worse for wear."
"But suppose tales got about, and the parents of the other boys
objected to the presence of the Bindons--they certainly are the most
remarkable children, for brothers too, I ever saw--and the other boys
were taken away, and then the Bindons went, the school would have lost
its character."
Mr. Harland reflected for a moment.
"I think I'll take the risk, Maria. So far as I am myself concerned I
only hope that Mr. Bindon may 'ship' another seven."
The wish was father to the thought. Mr. Bindon shipped them. Not a
fortnight after that discussion Mr. Harland had this letter:
"219, Twentieth Street, New York.
"Sir,--I am shipping, per s.s. _City of Thay_, an assorted lot of five
sons. My final selection not being yet made I am unable to advise you
as to their names. For fees please draw, on their arrival, on Messrs.
Rödenheim.
"Yours faithfully,
"J. Bindon.
"P.S.--Probably the lot may consist of seven."
"Maria," said Mr. Harland, when he handed this epistle to his wife,
"Mr. Bindon is a truly remarkable man."
The lady read the letter.
"Andrew, what does he mean? 'An assorted lot of five sons. Probably
the lot may consist of seven.' I take my stand, Andrew, and I
insist upon an explanation. I will not have this man shooting his
children--or what he calls his children--into my house as though they
were coals. Seven sons all of an age were hard to swallow, but at
fourteen I draw the line."
"You're not a philosopher, Maria. At the rate of a hundred pounds a
head I shouldn't draw the line at forty."
"Andrew, don't talk to me like that. Who is this man? And what is the
mystery connected with his children? Did I tell you that the other
morning I asked John P. Arthur how many brothers he had, and he said
that he didn't know, there were always such a lot of fresh ones
turning up?"
Mr. Harland rubbed his chin.
"I don't know, Maria, what difference it makes to us whether the boys
we receive as pupils are the sons of Brown or Jones. It is not as
though we went in for anything special in the way of birth and family.
It isn't even as though we confined ourselves to the sons of so-called
gentlemen. Mine is a middle-class school. In these days of competition
with the Board Schools one cannot choose one's pupils. I always
welcome the sons of tradesmen, and I am quite sure I shall be always
glad to receive any number of pupils at a hundred pounds a head, no
matter who they are."
Probably, on reflection, Mrs. Harland fell into her husband's views.
At dinner the principal of Mulberry House School made an announcement
which, while it was of an interesting, was, at the same time, of a
curious kind. It was when the pudding had been served.
"Boys, you will be glad to hear that I expect to receive, either
to-day or to-morrow, five new pupils, and probably seven, but of the
seven I am not quite sure. This piece of news should be specially
interesting to the Masters Bindon, since the new pupils are their
brothers." The headmaster's words were received with silence--possibly
the silence of surprise. "I don't think that there is any other school
in Europe which can claim to have had under its roof, at one and the
same time, twelve brothers, and perhaps fourteen."
Up spake Rufus--John F. Stanley:
"I disown 'em," he observed; "I disown 'em all."
Mr. Harland smiled.
"But it does not follow because you disown them--which I am sorry to
hear, because perhaps one of these days they may turn the tables and
disown you--that therefore they are not your brothers."
"But they're not my brothers, not one of all the lot of them. I'm the
only son."
"Yes," said Mr. Harland with gentle sarcasm, as his eyes, wandering
round the table, rested on the other six; "I should say you were the
only son."
Two days passed. There were still no signs of the latest "shipment."
On previous occasions the Masters Bindon had appeared at Mulberry
House within a few hours of the receipt of the "advice."
"I hope," suggested the principal to his wife when, on the evening of
the second day, there was still no news, "that this is not another
case of 'going on the burst.'"
On the afternoon of the following day Mrs. Harland was working in her
own apartment, when the servant came rushing in. There was in the
maid's bearing a suggestion of suppressed excitement.
"If you please, ma'am, there are a lot of little girls downstairs."
"A lot of little girls! What do they want?"
"If you please, ma'am, I don't know. I think they're foreigners. They
say they've come to school."
The servant giggled. Mrs. Harland rose.
"Come to school! There must be some mistake. Where are they?"
"They're in the hall. And if you please, ma'am, there are three flies
full of luggage."
Mrs. Harland went downstairs. A crowd of small girls were grouped
together in the hall, varying in ages perhaps from six to fourteen.
The lady addressed herself to the largest.
"What is it you want?"
"We've come to school."
Mrs. Harland smiled.
"But this is a school for young gentlemen. No doubt you are looking
for Miss Simpson's, Burlington House Academy. The flyman ought to have
known."
"He said Mulberry House. He wrote it down."
The young lady held a piece of paper. She handed it to Mrs. Harland.
On it were some words, inscribed in a handwriting which was becoming
almost too familiar. At sight of it the lady felt an inward qualm.
"What is your name?"
"Clara Mary Dixon."
Unconsciously the lady gave a sigh of relief. It was not the name
which she had dreaded.
"I'm sure there's some mistake."
"There's no mistake." Suddenly the young lady put her handkerchief up
to her eyes. Immediately all the other young ladies followed suit.
"You're trying to play it off on us. He wrote it down himself, he did.
We never thought he was going to ship us off to Europe just 'cause
he'd married ma."
The young ladies' voices' were raised in lamentation. The servants
stood giggling by. The flymen grinned upon the doorstep. Mrs. Harland
deemed it inadvisable to continue the interview in public.
"Come this way." She led the way into the drawing-room. The weeping
maidens followed. "Pray don't cry. The mistake, however it may have
arisen, will soon be cleared up. Now tell me, where do you come from?"
"New--York--City!"
Mrs. Harland, when she received that answer, was conscious of another
inward qualm.
"Who sent you to England?"
"Mr.--Bindon."
The lady sat down on a chair. She stared in speechless silence at the
new arrivals. Then, rising, she rang the bell. The servant appeared.
"Tell your master I wish to speak to him in the drawing-room."
Scarcely had the housemaid turned her back than there came a loud
ringing at the front-door bell. Another servant entered--the cook--in
her hand a cablegram. Mrs. Harland was conscious that the envelope was
addressed to Mr. Harland. As a rule enclosures addressed to him she
held inviolate, but on this occasion she broke the rule. She tore the
envelope open with a hand which slightly trembled. With her eyes she
devoured the words which were written on the sheet of paper it had
contained:
"Girls shipped by mistake. Boys following.--Bindon."
Those were the words which had been flashed across the seas. She read
them over and over again. It seemed as though she could not grasp
their meaning. She still held the telegram extended in her hand when
her husband entered the room. That gentleman paused upon the
threshold. Retaining the handle of the door in his hand, he appeared
to be making an effort to comprehend the meaning of the scene within.
"What is it you want, Maria?"
"I--I want nothing." The lady put her hand to her brow with a gesture
which was almost tragic. "This is Mr. Bindon's latest shipment."
She stretched out her hands towards the strangers in a manner which
really was dramatic. The girls had dried their eyes to enable them,
perhaps, to study Mr. Harland to better advantage. They stood in a
row, the tallest at one end and the shortest at the other. The line of
height descended in an agreeably graduated scale. Mr. Harland stared
at the girls. Then he stared at his wife. "I don't understand," he
said.
"Read that!"
The lady thrust the cablegram into his hand. He read it. He read it
once, he read it twice, he read it even thrice. Then crumpling it up
he thrust both hands into his trouser pockets and he whistled.
"This is a pleasant state of things," he said.
"Is that all you have to say?" inquired his wife.
"Well, my dear, I may have a little more to say if you will give me a
little time to reflect upon the situation. It is a situation which
requires reflection." He stared at the row of girls in front of him.
He reflected. "This is a truly pleasant state of things. Your father,
young ladies----"
"He is not our father," interposed the tallest of the row, Clara Mary.
"Not your father? Mr. Bindon is not your father?" Mr. Harland referred
to the crumpled cablegram. "I am afraid that again I do not
understand."
"We're the Miss Dixons. Ma's a widow. Mr. Bindon shipped us off to
Europe the very day he married her. We never knew that we were going
till just before we started, and I don't believe Ma knew it either."
Again the handkerchiefs were raised in a simultaneous row to tearful
eyes.
"J. Bindon," murmured Mr. Harland, "_must_ be Jolly Jack. You will be
pleased to learn, young ladies," he added in a louder key, "that you
have been shipped to Europe by mistake. I don't at this moment
understand altogether how the mistake arose. There are eight of you--I
perceive that there are eight--and one would think that a mistake to
that extent would be one which it would be rather difficult to make.
Still, you will be gratified to learn, it has been made. Mr. Bindon
has telegraphed to tell me so. We expected a shipment to consist of an
assorted lot of sons, possibly five--possibly seven. I am informed in
the telegram that that shipment is following. But whether we are to
return at once the shipment which consists of you, or whether, so to
speak, we are to give it warehouse room, there are no instructions yet
to hand."
The row of girls stared at Mr. Harland, dry-eyed and open-mouthed.
He spoke in a tongue which was strange to them.
"Andrew," cried his wife, "I am ashamed of you! How can you talk like
that!"
Mr. Harland continued, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "It
occurs to me that I have read somewhere, it was perhaps in some old
book, that in American schools they run--I believe the term is a
correct one--the boys and girls together. I hope Mr. Bindon is not
under the impression that such a system obtains in Duddenham."
"Andrew, it is shocking! Upon my word, I feel inclined to cry."
"Do not cry, Maria; do not cry. Suppose, instead of crying, you come
with me to the study, and let me say a word to you alone."
"Andrew," cried the lady, as she closed the study door, "I really am
ashamed of you. How can you say such things--a man in your position?"
"A man in my position, Maria, is justified in saying anything, even
damn. It is because my tongue inclines to adjectives, strong and pithy
adjectives, that I endeavour to let off the steam in another way."
"What are you going to do with those poor girls?"
"What are you going to do, Maria? Girls are more in your line than
mine."
"I believe he's done it on purpose, that Bindon man. I don't believe
it's possible to make such a mistake; shipping girls in mistake for
boys, indeed!"
"Not in the case of an ordinary family, Maria. But it is not an
ordinary family, Mr. Bindon's." There was a pause. The lady walked
excitedly up and down the room. The gentleman sat back in an
arm-chair, his hands in his trouser pockets, his legs stretched out in
front of him. "You will have to provide them with bed and with board,
Maria, till we have turned the matter over in our minds, or till we
have heard further from Mr. Bindon."
They had to.
They provided the young ladies with bed and board.
"As," remarked Mr. Harland, when the days went by, and there still
came no further instructions from America, "these young ladies bid
fair to remain with us an indefinite length of time, I think, in order
to do something which will entitle me to the proper fees, I will lay
on something in the shape of a daily governess. They shall receive
their education in the parlour. If Mr. Bindon could only see his way
to making a few more errors in the 'shipment' line I might, on my
part, see my way to running a school for young ladies in connection
with my establishment for boys."
The eight Misses Dixon arrived on a Tuesday. Nothing--that is, nothing
unusual--happened during the whole of the ensuing week. But on the
Wednesday week, eight days after their arrival, an incident, slightly
out of the common way, did vary the monotony. A fly drove up to
Mulberry House, and in it, on the back seat, sat a solitary boy. Mr.
Harland happened to be leaving the house just as the fly drove up. He
eyed the boy, the boy eyed him. The flyman touched his hat.
"If you please, sir, seems as how this here boy's for you. Leastways,
it says so on his ticket." Turning round on his box the driver
addressed his fare. "This here's the schoolmaster, and this here's
Mulberry House."
The boy opened his mouth. Sounds issued forth. But they were sounds
without form, and void. He appeared, judging from the grimaces he was
making, to be suffering from an attack of facial convulsion. The
flyman descended from his box.
"Seems, sir, as how this here boy's got a stutter. It is a stutter
too. I never see nothing like it. They've been and stuck a lot of
tickets all over him, so that people might know where he was going to.
He'd never have made them understand."
When the boy came out of the fly Mr. Harland perceived that what the
coachman said was correct. A square, white card was sewed on his coat,
another on his waistcoat, and a third in a most prominent situation on
his breeches. The writing on this latter, by dint of constant
friction, had become so worn as to be unintelligible. On the other two
was written, in a bold round hand, so that he that ran might read:
"Frank J. Samuel Bindon,
Mulberry House School, Duddenham, England.
Note.--This Boy Stutters."
"I suppose," said Mr. Harland, as he eyed the youth, "that you are one
of the assorted lot."
The boy opened his mouth.
"B-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b--"
"I wouldn't speak to him much if I was you, sir," said the flyman.
"Every time he opens his mouth I expect to see him have a fit. I've
seen some stutters, but I never see one which came within a hundred
mile of his."
"I think," said Mr. Harland, when he introduced Frank J. Samuel Bindon
to his wife, "that I begin to understand what Mr. Bindon meant when he
wrote that he was shipping an assorted lot of sons. In his family he
appears to have samples of every kind."
"Hollo!" cried John F. Ernest, as Frank J. Samuel put in an appearance
in the playground, "here's Stammering Sam!"
"Maria," said Mr. Harland, about an hour later, to his wife,
"Stammering Sam can fight. He has polished off John G. William. He is
taking on John B. David for a change. What an interesting family those
Bindons are."
On the Friday the fly which had conveyed Stammering Sam again drove up
to the doors of Mulberry House. The same flyman was on the box.
"Sarah," he observed to the servant who opened the door, "I've been
bringing you a queer lot of young gentlemen of late. Wednesday I
brought you up one with a stutter, now I've brought you one what's
only got one leg, and another what's only got one arm. You'll soon be
able to keep a museum of living curiosities."
As he was speaking the flyman stood at the door of his fly, his back
turned to his fares. Suddenly the servant gave an exclamation.
"Look out, Mr. Stubbs," she cried.
The flyman moved aside, just in time to avoid the full force of a
blow, which although it missed his head, at which it was aimed, and
only shaved his shoulder, made him roar with pain. A boy, one of the
fares, was standing up in the fly, grasping, with both his hands, a
curious weapon of offence--a wooden leg.
"You young murdering villain!" shouted the flyman, clapping his hand
to his injured shoulder. "I've half a mind to break every bone in your
body."
"I would if I were you," retorted the lad "Try it on. You've been
saucing me all the way. I may only have one leg, but yours wouldn't be
the first head which I've splintered with a wooden one. Then _you'd_
be a living curiosity, I guess."
This young gentleman entered Mulberry House hopping upon one leg. The
wooden limb he carried in his hands. After him followed a second young
gentleman, who, since one of his sleeves was pinned up to his coat,
was apparently possessed of but a single arm.
"There's a armless young gentleman in the drawing-room," announced
Sarah to her master, "and another what's got his leg tucked under his
arm."
The announcement did not appear to take the principal of Mulberry
House by surprise.
"Further samples of the assorted lot," he murmured.
He was right. The strangers were two more examples of the fecundity
and the versatility of Mr. Bindon. The young gentleman with "his leg
tucked under his arm" declared his name to be Oscar J. Oswald Bindon.
The young gentleman with only one arm under which a leg could possibly
be "tucked" was another John T. Jasper Bindon.
"I understood from your father," said Mr. Harland, "that this lot
would consist of five, or possibly seven. May I ask if there are any
more of you to follow? This dropping in unexpectedly, by ones and
twos, Mrs. Harland and I find a little inconvenient."
"There's two more coming. But we wouldn't have anything to do with
them because they stutter."
This repudiation comes from Oscar J. Oswald. As he spoke he was
fastening on his wooden leg.
Two or three hours afterwards the fly--the same fly--drove up again to
Mulberry House. The same flyman was on the box.
"Sarah," he whispered from behind his hand, probably taught prudence
by experience, "here's two more stutters."